He says "you fill your head with nonsense"
His eyes are red in CVS neon
His lips are raspberry blue, like the cardboard people
Propped up in the Starbuck's windshield and
I wake into my frappe like a cigarette crying in its cinders
"Do you hear that," he says, but he is lying and
It's just nonsense again, although at least he's
Trying to be nice about it
And the cars breathe light for the billboards
Because the moon does not breathe at all anymore it is dying
As I am crying in the present
Though there he's alive and we're hiking up
I-85 north where he asks how we got there
And I have no answer except
That my fingers were far beyond cold
That my fingers were cold, cold, cold
My fingers were so fucking cold